Trying To Pretend
by Spokesandhill
Summary: Eddie is successful. He has a wife, a good job, a house, the safest car on the market, and insurance. Everything should be perfect, except it wasn't. Something was missing, and for the life of him, Eddie doesn't understand what. Derry is far behind him, and yet, when he receives a call inviting him back for the funeral of an old friend from Derry, he can't bring himself to refuse.


Eddie lived a life that was ok. Never aiming too high, never shooting too far, and, most of all, never *ever* going outside of what was comfortable.

It started in the summer after defeating "It". The Losers drifted apart into their own realms. He grew lonely, beginning to forget the confidence they gave him. Even his closest friendships fell apart—people moved out of town, or just found a better group to fit into. Eddie never felt like he found his alternative to the Losers, and lived day to day, worrying, cautious, slowly slipping.

He went to college, but never really enjoyed himself. Everything felt so…overwhelming. Not having his mom there, even if she was a little batshit, was hard to cope with. But he always swore he wouldn't go back. He hadn't been happy.

And then, she got sick. Really sick, for real sick, with cancer.

He left for a year, stayed by her side through the chemo, the doctor's appointments. He always opted for more treatments, for anything. But despite all the medical attention he demanded they give her, nothing seemed to work. Nothing healed her completely. Moments of peace were followed by waves of further complications.

He was powerless, more so than ever before. She would rarely speak to him, rarely praise him towards the end. It was like she knew he was failing her, yet there was nothing left to do. He stayed every night in the hospital recliner next to her bed, rarely sleeping. He watched, waited, slipping back every moment he stayed. When she could, she would lecture him about his own life, what he was doing wrong. And yet, he could never leave. He never just walked out, never just gave up. She was his mother!

When she died, it was rather dramatic. Eddie couldn't remember exactly what caused it all. Organ failure? In any case, she'd left behind pretty much nothing except the estate and what money she had on hand. No money for a funeral, no will.

It was like even in the end, she thought she would never die.

From that point on, he had no idea what to do but survive—hold everything that was comfortable close to him—in her memory. It was like every medication, every caution, was in honor of her. He was desperate for control, desperate for the comfort of the past. He looked both ways, self-medicated, and pushed all his summers in Derry to the back of his mind.

And yet, though he was doing everything that felt right, something felt missing. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of "just ok". Not valuing himself enough to go for what he deserved, staying in a stagnant life, never being challenged at anything he did. It was like he felt too guilty to do better, guilty that at that breaking point, he had let her go. Guilty that it felt so relieving. Desperate to find a replacement for the feeling in someone else

Her name was Myra, and she was…something. He wasn't sure what he found so wonderful about her. It might have been that she was drawn to his desperation, and he suddenly felt wanted, a feeling he was so starved for. She was so…comfortable. She protected him. She urged him towards a career that fueled his anxieties, always making him fall back to her for comfort. It wasn't perfect, but it felt…well…

He wanted to believe it felt right. He kept spinning it this way and that, making excuses. This kind of love was what he was used to. It made sense to him. So why did he feel so unfulfilled?

Something about his time in Derry. His time with the Loser's Club. Buried deep in his mind was the memories of guilt free happiness. The times he would forget to go home. The times he got so wrapped up in the moment that he forgot what he was so worried about. Peace, most of all—the times he felt peace.

But Derry was years ago. It was in 1988. Thirty years ago! That was the past, and he couldn't dwell on it. Besides, there were so many flaws in that pipe dream—the time he broke his arm, the times his mother would scold him and keep him in as punishment. The times he didn't see anyone for so long, not seeing Bev, Ben, Bill, Stan, Mike, Richie…

The name felt like acid in his mind.

Richie seemed to dominate all the bittersweet memories. He remembered the times they would lay on Richie's roof, stare at the sky, make ridiculous names for each made-up constellation. He remembered the few times Richie had been allowed over to the Kaspbrak house, how he'd be so uncommonly delicate with everything. The days Richie would sneak into the Kaspbrak house, into Eddie's room and lay on the floor, just listen to whatever worries Eddie had about crushes, about school. Richie providing input, giving a coarse (sometimes unwanted, but always needed) fresh take. The times in the clubhouse, fighting over the hammock. Going to the comic book store. Getting ice cream together. Richie making jokes about his mom, Richie calling him cute, Richie smothering him with something that wasn't like what his mother had kept him under. Richie felt like a light in darkness, a darkness he had always lived with.

Overwhelmingly, he remembered how Richie would always find a way to distract him from what was eating him to death. Richie had been the one to tell him didn't need his inhaler. Richie telling him he was brave. Richie, lifting him up.

But he also remembered it not always being just fun and games. It never seemed to be any one thing, but everything that tore Richie from him, just a multitude of different situations coming to a head. He remembered Richie pushing him away somewhere in the middle of high school, finding other friends, and more and more excuses. He never saw Richie at the usual haunts as often, and when he was there, he wasn't with losers, like Eddie. He would see Richie and some girl on his roof, pointing out the stars.

At that point he was grateful for the distance. He felt replaced, and most of all, forgotten. Bitter resentment felt like bile in the back of his throat. That, and the nagging thoughts that he had never been a good enough friend to Richie, even when Richie meant everything to him.

Those times when he remembered, he would throw himself into his work, bring Myra out to dinner, anything to remind him that THIS was the life he chose, that THIS was the RIGHT path. The days he couldn't forget, those were the ones that sent him walking. Nowhere special or particularly adventurous. Usually he would go out and pace in the driveway, though Myra found out and started to dote over him when he did. Now, when he found time to escape, he would walk the neighborhood. A few houses down the street, a few houses back. Over and over.

This was where he found himself when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, the signal of a call.

He pulled it out of his pocket to see a number he didn't recognize. But, curious, he answered.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hey Eds."

Eddie scowled in confusion. Nobody called him that, not that he could remember. It had also been a long time. "May I ask who's speaking?"

"Its um…well, it's Richie." The man who claimed to be Richie seemed slightly…anxious?

Eddie was beside himself, one could even say he was absolutely SHOOK. The anxiety of wanting to be friends again was followed by the bitterness that they had drifted apart.

"Richie…"

"Richie Tozier?"

"No, I know who you are. Why are you calling? How did you get my number?" Eddie winced at how accusatory he felt, but he couldn't help himself.

"I can work Google, Eds. And its um…do you remember…Stanley…"

"First of all, don't call me Eds. Second, what about him?" Eddie didn't notice it before, but the air was starting to feel cold around him. He walked faster.

"He's um, well, how do I say this. He kicked the can."

"Kicked the…what?"

"He's with Jesus? Moses? Whoever the Jews believe in."

"What?" Some part of Eddie didn't want to make sense of what Richie was so obviously saying. Instead, he felt annoyed, annoyed by how Richie was being so silly. If he was saying what Eddie thought, he was saying he-

"He's…" Richie's voice barely faltered "He's dead. Kicking Hitler's ass or something now, I bet. Anyways, Beverly called me all emotional, told me to find you or call you or whatever. But I just found out you're still on the East Coast, and I've gone west, so I can't really just *walk* on over to you…"

It took everything for Eddie not to scream at Richie. He felt so many things. He felt frustrated. Alone in his suffering. Punished. Angry! God, he felt angry!

"…I mean, I could technically. Walk, I mean. But, lets be honest, I'm not EXACTLY in the best shape at the moment, so it might take you know, 1 or 2. Billion years, I mean." Richie continued, clearly trying to use humor to try and soften the blow "All the same…"

"Richie." Eddie interrupted. He meant for it to sound forceful, angry, but his voice came out like a dull croak. He coughed before repeating himself "_Richie."_

"Hm?"

"Beep beep. Shut the fuck up, or I swear I will walk what would take you two BILLION fucking years in a minute and snap your FUCKING NECK."

Eddie paused. Coughed. He hadn't spoken like that in years, and as angry as he was, it felt good to just speak. So, he kept going "I will rip out your spine. Hhhhhh! I'll crush you. Ahhhhh! I'll curb stomp your ass. I'll do everything but…"

He was slowing down as he realized that he was wheezing, full on WHEEZING, for the first time in 30 years.

Silence fell on the line, as it was clear that Richie, for once, was thinking before he spoke.

"Do you wanna know where the funeral is?" Richie said, sounding slightly softer.

Eddie rolled his eyes, practically spitting his answer.

"Hhhh….Derry…"

" Yeah, Derry. In two days. I'm at the airport right now. Everyone wants to meet up a little earlier."

"Two?…Days? Hhhh."

Eddie was tearing up, and set his phone down, trying to ignore the feeling that his throat was closing oh god he was DYING oh God Where was his inhaler Oh Fuck.

"Eddie?"

Part of him wanted to hang up. He despised this interaction. But, some part of him knew that Richie was just trying to make him feel better. It wasn't all just a joke to him, he just didn't know how to…not be abrasive.

"Hhhh….Yes…?"

"Are you ok over there?"

Eddie took a gulp of air, trying to force it down, hold it in.

"I'm not ok! You're making me freak out right now!"

"Oh." Richie said in a tone that was indecipherable.

"I've gotta go, I've got to pack, I've got to call my work, book a flight…"

"One step at a time."

"Fuck…You…FUCK YOU!" Eddie was yelling, which was probably the worst thing to do on a semi-secretive walk, as he happened to be in front of his own house. This occurred to him, and he quickly tried to really get himself under control. It would only be moments until Myra came out.

"…I'm really sorry."

And then he was gone. Richie had left.

Eddie stuffed his phone in his pocket, still gasping, to see the front door opening, Myra seeing him, rushing out.

"Eddiebear! Are you okay sweetie? Do you need your inhaler? I think you do, just hang tight while I go get it for you. What on earth were you doing out here, yelling those things?"

Eddie shook his head. "Old…friend…"

"From Derry? That awful place…" Myra shook her head dotingly and hurried off to retrieve Eddie's inhaler. Meanwhile, Eddie laid down, sort of slowly collapsed, in the driveway. She was right.

Derry was an awful. Awful place.


End file.
